Open The Frost Fair of 1765

[Mordecai Sagewood]

The elderly abbott flicked his tail as he waited for Jill to shoulder the bag, and patted her shoulder affectionately as they resumed walking.

The question wasn't a new one to him -- he'd asked it to himself many years ago. Any beast with half a brain and a desire to help simply had to. Rummaging through his robes, the squirrel produced an apple and a small pocket knife. Expertly, his wizened paws diced it up -- and he offered a slice to Jill.

"Well! I can't say I've been in many a fight m'self..." he mused, munching on his own apple slice as he thought. "...but I seem to recall you getting into a scrap or two!" The squirrel looked at her almost knowingly, an affectionate grin on his face.

"Hope! Hope, Jill! Tell me... When y'go headfirst into a brawl, are y'despairing? Thinking about the insurmountable challenge y'face? Or... or..."

The elderly squirrel stumbled for words, and balled his fist up in frustration. With a little hop, he swung a wild haymaker, robes flapping in quite the undignified manner. "... do y'cock yer fist back, and let 'er rip, hopin' for vict'ry? T'make a difference?" he asked, voice swelling with passionate pint sized old man fury.

 

[Ruffano Quickwhistle]

The Frost Faire swirled around Ruffano in a riot of color and noise, lanterns bobbing and voices overlapping in a way that would have driven a lesser beast to distraction. For him, it was bracing. Invigorating. The cold still gnawed at his extremities in a way he found deeply offensive, yes, but the spectacle itself more than made up for it, and the sight of Pomodu’s familiar red fur cutting through the crowd chased away any lingering complaints. Chaos suited him just fine, especially when it came wrapped in cheer, generosity, and the promise of a scene worth remembering.

"My dear Pomodu," he said gently, voice rich with reassurance, "if ever there were doubt that you had grasped the spirit of the season, banish it at once. You are not merely participating in Giftsgiving, you are carrying it upon your shoulders. You are delivering ten beasts’ worth of cheer, at least. Possibly twelve, depending on enthusiasm."

As Ruffano turned the bundle over in his paws, weighing it with theatrical consideration, a voice nearby cut in with open curiosity.

“Now that looks like something quite strange, indeed! You have me all curious now. I profess, it’s my first winter here in the Harbour proper and I have yet to see gift exchanges. I can’t help but want to know what it is myself.”

Ruffano glanced up, ears tipping toward the speaker, and his smile widened without a hint of reservation.

"Ah, then you’ve arrived at precisely the right moment," he said lightly, inclining his head in greeting. "Giftsgiving thrives on enthusiasm, mild bewilderment, and the collective agreement that beggars can't be choosers."

He lifted the parcel slightly, presenting it to the small knot of onlookers now gathered.

"Whatever waits inside, it was chosen with genuine cheer," he continued, eyes bright. "And that alone makes the ceremony worthwhile. I would encourage you to stay. The reveal is half the delight."

Only then did he turn his attention back to the parcel, beginning at last to peel away the paper.

Nestled within was a battered iron gauntlet, its surface chewed by rust and age, the leather lining inside cracked and softened to the point that it bore an unfortunate resemblance to decaying flesh. The effect was subtle enough to unsettle without quite tipping into grotesque, the sort of artifact that invited questions no one truly wanted answered.

Ruffano’s brows rose. Just a fraction.

"Oh my," he murmured, tilting it to catch the lantern light. "I do wonder if the previous owner left their arm behind when they decided to part with it."

Then, without missing a beat, his smile widened, bright and delighted.

"What a marvelous prop," he continued, admiration sincere now. "Perfect for the stage. I could see it already, a tragic revenant knight, or perhaps Old Iron Claw himself. Though..." he turned it slightly, inspecting the fit, "...alas, the wrong paw for full historical accuracy. But art, my dear, must occasionally make concessions."

Nearby, the air filled with the sharp crack of compacted snow meeting fur.

Griblo had just taken his first, deeply satisfying drag of a freshly lit cigar when a wayward snowball detonated squarely against his muzzle, exploding into icy shrapnel and extinguishing the cigar in an instant. He choked, spluttered, and staggered back a step, hacking out a curse as soggy remnants of leaf and snow clung to his whiskers.

"HELL'S GATES!"

Behind the stand, Grubbage paused mid-inventory. Just long enough for a rare, unmistakable smirk to crease his muzzle.

"That's what y'get fer pinching the merchandise," he observed dryly, before straightening and shaking a fist toward the unseen offenders. "Watch where ye throw, ye feral little menaces! This is a place o’ business!"

Griblo wiped his face with the back of his paw, glaring murderously toward the snowball melee as he mourned the ruined cigar under his breath.

Unaware or unconcerned with the minor tragedy unfolding nearby, Ruffano shifted, clearly struck by a sudden thought. He patted one pocket, then another, layers upon layers rustling as he searched, his expression turning faintly sheepish.

"Ah... just a moment," he said, already half-laughing as his paw finally emerged clutching a delicate bracelet. Glass beads caught the lantern light in pale blues, soft whites, and glimmers of icy green, strung together with care if not extravagance.

"I hadn’t planned on reciprocation," he admitted, offering it to her, "but the season has a way of insisting, doesn’t it? It’s nothing grand. Just something I’ve kept because it reminded me that winter needn’t be all frozen misery."

Reaching out, he stretched the bracelet over Pomodu's massive paw, the cord threatening to snap as it finally came to rest around her wrist.

"I think it will suit you far better than it ever did me."

@Pomodu lu Modokunomulo @Callisto Bluemoon

 

[Cryle]

A snowball whizzed overhead, ruffling her hat's feather.

"Korya..."

" - and then I need to show you how to ice skate, it'll be romantic! Er, not romantic like - not as if we're dating but you'll see... I hope this festival doesn't get as weird as the last one, I told you about the last one, right? Shrimp! Wizzow."

"Korya."

Korya babbled on about noodles and princesses and punching foxes, and the crowd around the gift-giving beast was growing thicker and what even was that. It was large, and the markings were like nothing she'd seen before. And she'd seen a wolf! And a wolverine! And...

"Korya!"

The tiny cat tilted her ears back at last, slowing her pace. "Eh?"

"Stop."

They stopped. Cryle shut her eyes, and carefully pried Korya's fingers off her sleeve. Almost immediately, Korya's stick was gently nudging at her shins and boots. A tiny hint of panic welled up in the feline's voice.

"Cryle...?"

"I'm okay. I need to go home. I need to go home to be okay. I know I said... we'd have more adventures together... but not this one. There's too much - it's too much for me. Too many beasts. Too much noise. After everything so far, the ship, the crew, I just... I need to be at home. I want to be at home. Okay?"

Korya was biting her lip. The noise of the festival washed over them, but the pocket of silence grew around them, filling with the lint of thought.

"With... me?" said Korya, finally.

"No. No, I... you want to be here, don't you? This is your time. Frostfang's time. Snow and ice and all this stuff. I'll be fine on my own, I like being on my own. I need it..."

"Oh. Okay..."

Cryle sighed. It was not okay. She still had her eyes shut - trying to feel the world the way Korya felt it. She reached out, felt the impossible heat of Korya's arm, and steeled herself. She hugged Korya, and the breath slammed out of her lungs as Korya hugged her back. Her brain was shaking, and she realized that was Korya purring.

"We're still not girlfriends," mumbled Cryle.

"You're still my best friend, though," said Korya. "I'll smell you later, crocodile."

Where did she even come up with these things?

Cryle wiggled herself loose with a few distressed squeaks. Eyes open again, she made sure that strange red beast was still the center of everyone else's attention, and hadn't moved towards them or noticed them. A fascinating creature for its singularity, but not obviously bio-luminescent and therefore there was no interest in getting to learn more about them for now. Cryle darted away before Korya could snag her again; there was no goodbye, no backward glance. This was Cryle's way.

If she had, however, she would have seen how Korya solved the matter of shrinking in size. For without her rat friend's company, the little leopard cat curled inward upon herself, shoulders slumping, her stick clutched tight to her chest and nuzzled against her cheek as her head drooped. Korya might not have known how to make expressions, but the instinct was there, and as the pocket of silence evaporated into the bustling noise of festivities once again - even as her ears swivelled back and forth to capture it all and make sense of the world around her - Korya's expression was one of a beast who was lost in more ways than one.

A snowball brushed her whiskers, and a familiar curse blasted her ears. Korya's sadness didn't hide well, but she grinned anyway, and tap-tapped her way towards it. All whims of wanting a knife had been long forgotten.

"Griblo! My favorite Frost Fair-ret. Don't open those gates here, we need the ice to stay frozen... What are you doing, and can I help? Do you need somebeast punched?"

 

[Eskila]

Eskila stood slack-jawed, blepping vacantly as the Minister explained the little heater devices. Her brain desperately clung onto the word water while her eyes watched his luxuriously poofy tail with no small amount of jealousy. Her own tail, frazzled at the moment, singed with a new patch missing, flicked and whapped at Oreva. The deaf wildcat kept trying to pull the water wagon through the crowd and onward. With a shrug, Eskila turned and followed, bringing up the rear and pushing the cart along.

Hot water. Well, there was surely no way that could cause a fire, right? Water was... anti-fire. Even if it was hot.

But how was it getting hot?

The question kept tugging. The answer didn't make sense. A story her old fire Captain had told her, about the three volunteers, surfaced.

"Everyone knew the first volunteer. His uniform was clean and pressed, covered with shiny medals, for he always leapt into the biggest fires moments before the buildings fell down. He never came out without somebeast draped over his shoulders, and word of his heroism spread far and wide.

"Less known was the second volunteer. Day after day he would go to every fire that he was made aware of, and do his best. Sometimes, there was no saving anybeast. But he'd rescued enough, and put out enough fires, to have his name in the Smelt a few times, and doing his duty made him feel fulfilled.

"The third volunteer rarely put out fires, and so almost nobeast knew he existed. But every day he was out on the street and visiting house to house. Making sure the fireplaces were to code. Making sure the straw was clean and kept tidy and away from lamps. Teaching the kits how to build proper fires and snuff out matches instead of throwing them in the privy.

"Now: who saved the most lives?"

Eskila stopped pushing and waded back into the crowd of lizards. With barely a thought about it at all, she unclipped the half-burnt blanket-cape from her shoulder and draped it over Cricket's head in passing.

She made her way to the front of the line of the most off-to-the-side wagon and waited her turn for one of the warming waterskins. When it was finally given to her, she wandered out to the big, imposing cat and his amazingly puffy tail.

She drew a knife from under her sleeve. Oblivious to the sudden stance shifting of quite a few beasts at the periphery of the Minister, if not the big cat himself, she pointed the blade towards her own waterskin and gazed up at him.

"I need to know, as Acting Captain of the 14th Bully Harbour Fire Brigade... If I break this, if I cut it open, then when the water is gone... will any part of it catch on fire?"

Oreva, at the back of the crowd, sat atop the empty water wagon with her chin in one her paw, the other rubbing her still-healing thigh wound, her cheeks puffed out in annoyance. This sable and her whims, what was going on now? She was going to sacrifice herself to this cult of lizards in the square? She'd only been helping Eskila this morning because, according to the Acting Captain, the bells had not stopped ringing since last sunset. From the fires she'd seen so far since then, so many of them had lizards of some sort clustering around the edges. Maybe this all had to do with that... Bah...